Home
by Anti-canon
Summary: Stiles had always planned on taking his guitar, leaving home, and never looking back, but he never made it very far, and though he's done a pretty good job at forgetting the past, seeing Derek Hale again brings up all kinds of abandoned feelings.
1. You Remind me of Home

**A/N: Okay, so I wanted to do something more legit for the Teen Wolf fandom, and I decided that I _really _wanted to take a shot at another album fic. Yes, I know that I haven't finished the other one, but that's beside the point. Anyways! This is based off of Ben Gibbard and Andrew Kenny's album Home. Each chapter will correspond with a song in the established order, so this one's You Remind me of Home. Please, please, _please _listen to the song before/after/during reading as it is very important to me and the story! Plus it's just a really good album. :P R&R por favor! I love to hear from you guys!**

It's odd, getting up on stage on the weeknights, feeling out the mood of the crowd, testing out the waters and making up the set-list on the fly while he picks nervously at the guitar strings and tells rambling stories about his frankly boring home life. He's exactly where he wants to be and yet, so clearly not. He'd always thought that if anyone had the chance, he'd be the one to make it out of his hometown. He was supposed to graduate high school, hitch hike across the country, take whatever odd jobs he could find, and wait until he caught his big break.

He'd made it one state over before getting stuck. And yet, he was okay with that. It was almost always raining, the ocean was tragically gorgeous, the people were always kind, and hell, here it didn't feel like much of anything mattered. Sometimes, he felt guilty, sometimes he felt like he was letting himself stagnate, wasting so much potential, but then he'd realize he was happier than he'd ever been before and all those concerns just faded away.

Everything was fine and life was just- happening, until the day he saw Derek Hale. Derek had been one of the lucky few that had genuinely made it. He was practically some kind of legend in the halls of Beacon Hill's high school. He'd bought himself a motorcycle, taken off and never looked back. Everyone assumed he'd gone on to see the world, seduce hoards of women, and experience everything that humanity had to offer.

But when Stiles walks into a new hole-in-the-wall on Friday night, a little early to get the lay of the land, and sees the one and only hero of Beacon Hills behind the bar, mixing drinks, it nearly knocks him flat on his ass. He makes a rather undignified squealing sound and falls back against the door. Of course this is really quite counterproductive and immediately Derek's eyes flick away from the martini shaker in his hand and alight on his face.

Recognition flashes clear as day in his muted, cool green eyes and he very nearly drops the shaker, having to contort into an awkward position to keep it from slipping out of his hand. Stiles takes the opportunity to dash over to the stage and hide in the back room. He thinks that he should be at least a little ashamed of his cowardice, but all he can think of is watching old paint crack, tapping his fingers in time with the water that drips from the rusty pipes above his head and just talking. Talking endlessly, about anything and everything as Derek sat on the broken bed with dirty sheets that creaked every time he shifted his weight.

The whole thing sits heavy and aching in his chest, old wounds feeling raw now that the scab was so suddenly ripped off. It takes him a few long moments to regulate his breathing- bring it back from wheezing and shuddering to deep intakes through his nose and out through his mouth. He can do this- it's been nearly four years now- it shouldn't hurt this much, the feelings shouldn't be this vivid.

Him and Derek- they were both supposed to escape, to keep going forward, no excuses, no apologies. There weren't supposed to be anymore suburban town, no more waiting around for things to happen. But then again nothing really went according to their plan, did it? He can't handle this all, not right now, so he does what he's always done when he's feeling overwhelmed. Throwing himself across the grungy thrift store couch in the room, he pulls his guitar out of its case and grabs one of the many crumpled notebooks stuffed beside it.

It takes a moment for him to find s page without cramped, lazy scrawl plastered all over it, but when it does he just starts to write it all down. He writes about the ancient heater that used to cough out more dust and gas fumes than actual warm air, the coffee table with one leg that was at least two inches shorter than the others, the windows that wouldn't open and the doors that wouldn't shut. All of these things, all of these feelings, Derek- they remind him of home.

And when he gets it all on the page he tries to make it coalesce, tries to make this unwanted nostalgia a melody. He's supposed to be warming up- he has to go on soon, but suddenly this seems hugely important, for him to say, for Derek to hear. It doesn't come out as much when he finishes, he'll probably be the only one to find it satisfying, but it's just what he wanted it to be, it's just what he needed it to be.

So he step out there, makes a show of tuning and re-tuning his guitar, performs a gratuitous amount of sound checks, and clears his throat. "Hey everybody, I'm Stiles and-uh… I wanna try out something new tonight." He breathes deep, closes his eyes, and plays.


	2. Carolina

**A/N: So, I'm going to attempt and update this once a day and just knock this thing out in the next week. That's prolly not gonna happen, but I'm staying hopeful and I'm rather excited about it. ^^ Anyways! Please R&R and listen to Carolina before/after/during reading! **

He'd been so drunk and Kate Argent had been practically fondling him the whole night. Stiles was home sick and he was supposed to be there- taking care of him like a good boyfriend should.

Instead he'd been at some party, wasted, and taking more stock in Kate's words than anyone ever should. She was a crooked spider of a woman and somehow she'd convinced him that he was only blowing off steam- doing Stiles a favor since the other boy didn't want to be pressured into anything.

The hurt and betrayal that shone through those damnably large and expressive eyes when he found out a week later made it so very crystal clear what a lie those words had been.

And maybe Derek had known it all along- maybe he was looking for a reason to self-destruct, as he always was. Maybe he was just drunk and young. He hasn't quite decided yet.

But with the words that come spilling out of Stiles mouth up on stage- a decision has been made. There's no ignoring it this time, no running away. Stiles had made the first move, brought it out into the open, and when he got off that stage, Derek would have to have something ready to say.

He'd made it as far as Carolina before he turned back around.

He'd never told Stiles, but throughout all those years of the two of them dreaming of all the places they'd go, never bothering to think where and when they might stop, he'd had this secret dream of the two of them drinking sweet tea on some ramshackle porch, complaining about the heat, discussing a trip to the shore.

So he'd packed the bare minimum- a single suitcase that could fit on the back of his bike, but allowed himself the saddlebag space for a box of keepsakes he couldn't bring himself to leave behind, and left without saying goodbye, or how truly sorry he was.

He thought that he'd be able to take some refuge in the rolling hills and willow trees, forget the taste of blood and claim of love as each passing town brought with it a larger sense of safety. But he'd been there less than a week before he had to leave.

He tracked the mile markers, counted the days, traced the outline of the key in his pocket he'd never been able to give back. But when he made it, he'd gotten scared.

Derek realized by now Stiles had graduated, he'd probably left, done the same as he had and taken off to leave the pain behind. If he did- Derek would probably never be able to track him down, left to live with his guilt forever.

But even worse was the thought that he was still there- spirit broken or dream tarnished all because of him. And so he came here, and waited for the time when he was finally brave enough to face his mistakes and find out if he would ever get the chance to set them right.

And now here it was- standing in front of him.

So he continues to mix drinks, trying his best to pay attention to what he's doing though the gentle sound of Stiles' voice is constantly snagging his attention.

He waits for what seems like an eternity and the blink of an eye at the same time. But when the spotlight goes out, and the tables begin to clear and Stiles walks off stage and into the back room, he nearly starts to hyperventilate.

He'd always been sort of socially inept, but whenever it had come to Stiles, everything had just seemed easier. The other boy took him for what he was and even at some point seemed to love him for it. And now?

What if he hated Derek for what he'd done? What if he no longer felt anything towards him? At least anger meant that there were still feelings, still some kind of affinity, but if there was nothing? What would he do then?


	3. Farmer Chords

**A/N: Woot! Check it out errybody- three days in and I haven't missed a day yet! I'm proud of myself even though I really shouldn't be. :P But we're already almost halfway there, which is crazy and exciting. :D So, lemmme know what you think, because I wanna hear from you- know matter how trivial! Even if you just wanna leave me a 'Hey!' Please R&R! Also- please keep listening before/after/during reading if for nothing else than the fact that this is coming from a really good album. ^^**

They met when Derek was six and Stiles was four.

Stiles had gotten... distracted by a bird and followed it out into the forest surrounding the Hale property. It didn't take long before he was lost and afraid- and that's when a young Derek had found him crying alone in the woods.

They became friends instantly and were inseparable ever since. The tiny age gap had never mattered- in fact they'd never even given it a moment's thought, until high school.

That's when it was suddenly "uncool" for Derek to be hanging around a little kid all the time, and then two years later, even more mortifying for a junior to start dating a freshman.

Because Derek was attractive, and athletic, and because everyone loved his older sister they were willing to forgive his attitude to try and make him popular.

Stiles was gangly and awkward. He never knew when to shut up and he always tried too hard. He couldn't compete with all the other boys and girls that wanted Derek's attention and the fear that he would finally realize that, that he would leave Stiles behind grew with each year.

He had learned to play the guitar when he was in middle school- his parents always searching for something that would make him focus. And for once, something they tried worked. Fumbling over the chords and trying to unravel a melody in the pathways from his heart, to his brain, and eventually down to his fingers was challenging and exciting.

So he offered up these simple rhymes and tried to paint Derek with his words, and whether or not they work, the older boy stays. And when they were alone he'd sing back the tunes that Stiles penned for him, he'd hum them when he showered, and he'd whistle them when he worked.

Stiles wonders if he still does, or if they've all been long forgotten. All of this little, innate things are what fill his mind when he steps off the stage and starts packing up his things and trying frantically to wipe the sweat from his brow. He imagines that he's probably gonna smell a bit, and he knows that his voice is going to be hoarse, but he can't just walk out and ignore this.

He takes a few deep breaths and forces his hands to stop shaking before slinging his guitar case over his shoulder and walking out into the bar. The majority of the crowd has cleared out- moving on to the busier and more exciting joints to continue their night, but there's a few stragglers- the heavy drinkers, the ones who enjoy the quiet, and on occasion someone who actually stuck around to talk to him about his music.

But tonight there's no sifting through the faces, his eyes snapped and locked onto the person behind the bar. Derek's face is as impassive and stony as ever, though he never used to be so muted around Stiles, and it still stings. In his eyes there's a hint of electricity that Stiles has no idea how to interpret.

He makes it to the bar before his knees give out, but he thinks that he turns the collapsing into taking a seat pretty convincingly. He tries his best to smile, but his lips quiver and the corners of his mouth twitch. He probably looks like an addict in withdrawal. Derek goes to smile back, but his turns into more of a grimace and he shows far more teeth than any human should in a smile.

It takes several awkward seconds for their awful, almost-smiles to peter out and then for a moment there's nothing but a tense silence. Then, a familiar mischievous glint passes through Derek's eyes and the both of them start laughing. It's not a gut-busting, red-faced, teary-eyed sort of laugh, but it feels good and it breaks the strain between them.

From there it's easier, but they keep to light topics and never drift anywhere close to Beacon Hills. It makes Stiles a little sad, that they can't talk to each other like they used to, but at the same time he can tell that the bridge hasn't been burned. It's run-down, rickety, and pretty damn decrepit, but there's still something there.

It's fragile, and the two of them spend the evening tip-toeing around each other, but by closing time, they're still talking, and it's still comfortable. At the door they exchange numbers and make a commitment to get together again sometimes next week, preferably when Derek isn't working and Stiles can speak above a whisper.

Stiles isn't sure how he feels about the whole thing just yet- after all it didn't turn out so well the first time, and isn't the definition of insanity doing the same the over and over again and expecting different results? He pulls his guitar a little tighter over his shoulder and resolves to think about it more- after a full night's sleep and a _long _hot bath.


	4. Choir Vandals

**A/N: Hooray! We're halfway there folks! I'm so very happy with the way that this is going and I sincerely hope that y'all are too. ^^ This is the shortest chapter that I've written, but to be fair the song is only about eight lines long. :P That's totally where I'm gonna placed the blame and not with myself since I am apparently incapable of writing anything minutely long. Anyways! Please R&R and keep listening before/after/during reading. **_  
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Derek would be lying if he didn't admit that seeing Stiles again was painful in a way he'd never experienced before.

Instantly all these memories came flooding back that he'd thought he'd forgotten- the two of them racing to the nearest ice cream parlor on their bikes, streamers whipping about on the handles, or staying in on a Friday night to watch Roman Scandals, curled up on the couch.

It went so much better than he could have hoped for, the two of them quite nearly falling right back into the old rhythms, but there was so much that was different at the same time.

Derek stands in the shower, letting the heated water try and pound out the ache in his shoulders that has nothing to do with actual physical exertion, for nearly an hour when he gets home.

Stiles had changed so much, and at the same time not at all, and it drives him crazy to know that he missed all of it. He could've been right there beside him all these years, watching as the boy slowly grew into the young man he saw before him tonight.

He was no longer so awkward having grown into his limbs, and perhaps gaining more of a confidence in himself than he had had before. He dressed differently- clothes working with the shape of his body instead of against it- and the way he held himself professed that he knew just how good he looked. His voice didn't crack anymore when his words ran away with him in excitement and his vocabulary was peppered with new phrases and methods of expression.

But his eyes were as gentle and telling as ever, the dusky sweep of his lashes keeping them doe-eyed and soft. There was still than hint of nervous energy in the way that they flitted about, and Derek still found himself lost and lethargic in their depths. He still talked with his whole body, nearly tipping over the bar stool beneath him several times during their talk.

The thing that hurt most was the way that he still looked at him.

Somehow, it hadn't managed to change after everything that had happened. He could see it in the way his mouth still hung open a bit, the way his brows knit together and lifted at their juncture, the way his eyelids fluttered nearly closed.

Even though Derek marked up their history, burnt out the candles on their relationship, brought everything crumbling down, Stiles still looked at him as though he were the hero, as though he were gracing the other boy with his presence.

But he felt like he was being given something he didn't deserve, like having Stiles walk back into his life was a gift that he had not yet earned.

The truth was, all Derek wanted was just to be someone that Stiles knew.


	5. Hometown Fantasy

**A/N: So, I was gonna apologize for the length again, but I'm thinking that if you made it this far, you prolly already know what it is that you signed up for. :P So I won't. Because I'm doing this thing where I'm just trying to accept the fact that I don't write long fics. If you get 2000 words outta me, you're doing pretty damn good. And that's that. ^^ ANYways! Now that we're past the rant that nobody wanted to hear... Please R&R! I love to hear from you guys! It makes me infinitely happy every time that a review comes in! And please, please, please keep listening before/after/during reading! The album was the whole reason I'm writing this. **_  
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It's two months after they first reconnected that it happens.

The bar has technically been closed for almost an hour now, but neither of them is ready to leave. The chairs have all been stacked up on the tables, the music is off, and all the lights, save for the one hanging directly above their booth, have been turned out.

The greasy remains of a basket of fries sits between them and Stiles idly picks at the crunchy bits that have long gone cold. The silence between them isn't uncomfortable, but rather pregnant with all manner of possibilities. Neither of them has dared to break it for the fear of what might happen.

Neither of them could deny just how easy it was to fall into their old patterns- both more than willing to try and overlook the past just to have each other in the future. They know what's happening, but haven't chosen to admit it just yet.

So instead of huddling up together on the couch to marathon Veronica Mars and stealing kisses in between episodes like they used to, they stay up until two catching re-runs and quoting lines over the phone.

They have lunch or dinner nearly every other day and Derek tries his damnedest to make it to all of Stiles' performances. He likes how truthful and personal each one is- the way that the other boy still sometimes gets emotional on stage. Stiles doesn't know how to be anything but open and Derek loves that about him.

So though he's not speaking- Derek feels as though he doesn't need to. He thinks that he can understand everything that's going through his head, and he prays that he's reading the moment right because what he's planning on doing, there's no going back.

So he takes a deep breath, and places his hand over Stiles'. The younger boy flexes his fingers beneath it and waits a few beats before looking up at him. There's a sort of nervous hope shining behind his eyes and when Derek moves his hand to grip at Stiles' wrist, he can feel the jackrabbit beat of his pulse.

At this point he can't even be bothered to wonder whether or not this is a good idea, and leans over the tables to capture Stiles' lips with his own. The press of his lips is tentative at first, the both of them hiccuping and hesitating at both the familiarity and new-ness of this situation.

But then Stiles' lets out this happy, little sigh against Derek's lips when he goes to pull away for breath. He can't help his gut reaction and before either of them know what's happening Stiles is straddling Derek's lap and pressing his nose into his neck. The scent, the muscle memory, it all reminds him of home. Unconsciously he says it aloud, and there's a stutter in Stiles' breathing.

"Maybe it'll be just like it was- some bizarre hometown fantasy, but I don't... I don't want it to be." Stiles is whispering soft and vulnerable against Derek's ear and his fingers grip tightly at his back. "I'm not sharp like I used to be, not quite that resilient yet. Definitely not as sharp as you are jagged, serrated. You can't do that again."

It hurts, but Derek knows it was something that Stiles had to say, probably something that he had to hear too. He can't go back to that, he had to let the pain make him remember. He has to show that he was worth the second chance.

Because though Stiles was right, though he was a little broken, a little rough, a little stilted, it was still his decision, still his fault. He thinks maybe time has smoothed his edges, maybe this had to happen so that he could become the kind of person that Stiles needed.

Right now it's all just speculation, but it's finally time to lay down some new track, and he's hopeful that it's going to lead to wonderful places.


	6. Secrets of the Heart

**A/N: Yesss! I'm so proud of myself for staying on track! :D And I kinda love this chapter! :P It turned out a lot differently than I thought that it would, but my works always do and I actually love that about them! It might technically be a bad thing that I'm the author and I never really know where it is I'm going with my stories, but I kinda really love it. I never know where things are gonna end up or what the characters are gonna do and discovering it just makes me infinitely happy. ^^ Anyways! Please keep listening before/after/during reading and please please R&R!**

It's late and they really shouldn't stay.

But laying just inches apart- watching each other as they take turns remembering the shapes of the others' face- is so soothing and peaceful here where it all started, that they couldn't possibly bear to leave.

It had been a last minute decision, Derek throwing out the suggestion haphazardly over the phone one night when they were up late talking. Then Stiles had just laughed it off, and listened intently as Derek calmly talked him to sleep.

But the next morning he'd showed up at the other boy's apartment, leaning against the door jamb with a pair of coffees in hand and an overnight bag slung over his shoulder just in case.

Derek smiled wryly at him, took both cups- tutting at Stiles when he had tried to grab one back, and quirking his lips evilly as he gave him some caffeine-free tea instead- grabbed his keys, and with that they left.

It wasn't exactly the grand adventure that they had planned out together, and they were heading back home instead of racing away from it, but they were both just glad to finally have the chance to share the wonders of the road together.

It would take the vast majority of the day- the odds of them getting there before dusk rather scarce- but that didn't seem to matter as the coast stretched out infinitely before them and the wind whipped the scent of the waves through their windows.

Stiles had brought his guitar and the two of them sang along to every song he knew, not minding the lack of radio in the beaten-down sedan, and usually devolving into fits of laughter and sarcastic criticism near the end of every tune anyway.

Once their energy had died down, they contented themselves with staring out the windows- pointing out bits of scenery to each other along the way or sharing stories from the places they'd visited on their own, and hoped to visit again, together.

The sun seemed to move before their eyes as the hours passed by quicker than either could imagine and they eventually pulled up the dirt road path. Before them sat the old Hale estate, burnt out and abandoned just two generations before Derek's own.

It seemed to still be the quintessential "haunted house" for the small town of Beacon Hill, and as they passed through the ashen door, it remained untouched from when they left it.

Most kids outgrew the fear laced fascination with the home by the time that they hit high school- the nightly trips to try and dare each other to cross the premises seemingly silly instead of daring then.

But Derek and Stiles had spent almost all their time there- dragging in couches they found on the curb, old twinkle lights thrown out when half the strand went out, collections of rocks and shells and anything else that held their fancy to decorate it to their liking.

It became their hide-out from the world, and it was where they had fallen in love for the first time. When they made it to the upstairs bedroom, the creaky bed and tattered map nailed to the wall still sat there, a little worse for wear, but there all the same.

Multi-colored push pins peppered the old highways and must-see wonders of nature all across the U.S. and lists of all the provisions they would need and all the things they would do, written in both their hands, were tacked to the corner.

They spent hours reminiscing, stumbling over old memories and older keepsakes. They had grown up here, learned all about the world, about the secrets of the heart.

Coming back hurt, but in the way that they knew it meant they were healing. They shared a look that expressed more than words could ever say, and knew that they wouldn't be able to leave that night.

So they shook out the blankets and laid down across the bed, grimacing at the way it groaned and protested, but still held their weight. And there they stayed, breathing each other's air and memorizing each other's face.

That night confirmed that it wasn't a mistake and the freedom of finally, _finally_ moving on, had them sighing happily in relief.


End file.
